Lamentation
by MomoMokuba
Summary: The world can be a cruel, cruel place, and that can only be learnt through experience. The journey of a hero who was forced into the position.


_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_

_Let my blade touch the ground,_

_Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._ - Canticle of Andraste 7:12

At first glance, Lyna Mahariel would seem simple, perhaps others would say prideful. She kept her blonde hair short and cropped to her face, not attempting to hide her pointy ears or Vallaslin. The markings were subtle yet prominent against a being which lacked color, light patterns that spanned across her forehead and down her nose. This elf was lanky, which wasn't particularly unusual for her kind. Her voice was cultured; calm with a hint of a Welsh accent. Despite her rank (most knowing rogues as being thieves or assassins), she was quiet and private, very reserved and did not get offended elve preferred to refrain from being opinionated, not earning her many friends. Her clan was relatively small, and very isolated. She had occasionally met city elves or humans upon patrols or huntings, but never got the chance to converse properly with them. She was taught to believe they were lost: horrible beings that would subjugate them given the chance. Lyna was clever, being able to read and study history was not common, especially among the rogues. It was this knowledge that pushed her to believe not all others are bad, despite never interacting with them. This naive ideal would change upon joining the Grey Wardens.

Duncan was the first human she had formally met, and it would be a lie to say he did not leave a great impression on her. He was admirable in all aspects- wise, strong, confident, and diversely knowledgable. Managing to appear into a closed off clan without offending should be worthy of reward. When they had diagnosed her with the taint of Darkspawn, something she was unfamiliar with, he, against her will, nearly dragged her down south towards Ostagar. She had struggled greatly during that journey, barely managing to bring herself to travel daily. Recognition of the possibility of never seeing the people you were brought up with took its toll on her mind, and the taint on her body. When they had finally arrived at Ostagar, she was sweaty, tired, and most of her leather armor had been caked with mud. Yet here this human lord presented himself, all grins and jests. Naturally she had been afraid, nervous of the tales her elders had spoken to her of all Shemlens being was nearly the opposite; the king admired her, praising her heritage and wishing her luck. It was an understatement to say she was surprised.

Mahariel remembered that day quite well. After timidly speaking to the man said to be king, she gratefully bathed and was rewarded decent armor, and it felt nice to run her fingers through clean hair. She gorged herself, and the others looked at her strangely. She even felt bold enough to snag a few hours of rest, but knew that would be irresponsible. Lyna gathered herself, making sure to appear proper when searching for the junior warden. Her timidness was noticed among the wardens, for she was mistaken as a servant once, and probably would be many more times if it weren't for the armor. When he met this warden, she could not help but to question him, or relate him to his king. Odd, she thought; their similarities must of been a coincidence. She told him he was strange, and he feigned pain. She laughed for the first time in quite a while.

Ser Jory and Daveth intrigued her as she listened to both of their backgrounds. Humans did have lives which did not involve terrorizing others, and as they descended to retrieve ancient treaties and Darkspawn blood, her admiration deepened for the three. Perhaps it was only her lack of experience with others that led her to this admiration, but nonetheless could not help but to be impressed by the determination each of them showed. The impression she got from meeting Morrigan, a mage living deep within the Wilds, was no less- just another being with a seemingly fascinating background, determined to something. She would be lucky to find out what.

When she witnessed Daveth succumb to the taint, she tensed in pure fear, even more when Ser Jory resisted. Whatever she was about to consume could clearly be lethal, and as she stepped forward she silently cursed the Creators or Maker or whatever higher power existed as she realized she would have no choice in this ritual. Even if somehow she were to evade consuming this blood, it would leave her to a fate which would slowly and painfully consume her body until transformed into something completely different- something evil. Wisely choosing, she held the goblet, finding difficulty to grasp it in her small liquid was thick, it made her gag, and the pain which had surged through her made it difficult to focus on Duncan's words. She lost consciousness. She awoke shortly after with a strangely familiar ache, and the concern gaze of Alistair falling upon her, in a sense, it comforted her.

The junior warden soon came to a realization: in less than a week, she was pulled away from her only friends, convinced he was dead or suffering from the same fate she would be destined to, forced to leave her clan and possibly never see them again, traveled across the country, and was to get over any opinions she would have on humanity. Because of this, she would become formidable and respected by all others simply by bringing the taint into her own body. Unbelieving, she took a moment to steady herself. They then received further instructions.

As duty began, everyone was in haste.

After hearing Cailan's plan, she could not help but to be surprised that someone so important would be in the front lines in battle. Wasn't that not supposed to happen? Perhaps it was the way of the outside world and she was not aware, however, she couldn't afford to focus on that at the moment. They had been assigned a task, and a challenging task it was. Fighting mass hordes of Darkspawn was something she had only done once before. She had fought an _Orge. _Maybe, if she turned out lucky enough, it was all just a dream. She'd wake up back at camp and go on the hunt with Tamlen, just like any other day. She had heard Grey Wardens had unusual dreams. The pain, however, had reminded her of the reality she faced as an arrow pierced through her chest, effectively defeating her.

The blond had awoken groggily, as she remembered, the light being too bright. A familiar voice had apologized, although it hinted at annoyance, and the dimming brought welcomed relief, but did nothing to aid her confusion. She recognized the woman as Morrigan, and quickly sat up in a panic to discover what had happen. The brunette, again, responded to this with annoyance before proceeding to calm her and explain the situation. How do you react when you find out you were just betrayed by the men you chose to stand by?

She dressed herself in a spare robe and went to reassure herself her only friend, if you could yet call him that, was injured, she noticed, but how tired he looked. She could do nothing more but to offer the man a sympathetic gaze for his lose, returned in compassion, and allow him to grieve.

In that night, it was concluded that they were very well be the only two remaining wardens within all of Ferelden, and with that, drastic measures had to be taken. Not only were lies most likely being spread as they spoke, they had a blight to prepare for and it was unlikely anyone would spare their time for them, so they were somehow to build an army. This started with the Wild's sorcerous- Morrigan, who was more than displeased, same being with Alistair. She did not object, and they followed her instructions on navigating the Wilds. Strange, how being in a forest invested with creatures eager to kill, accompanied by only strangers, causes you to think. She was merely forced into this position; a combination of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She did not ask for this duty, yet here she was.

When they had finally arrived to Lothering, she had been exhausted. Her injuries still ached, and she couldn't imagine it going any better for the now senior warden she traveled with. This would be were she got her first glance at humanity. She could not blame the city; refugees crowded it and many were threatened with hunger. When insulted of her origin, she deflected it calmly. The village was sad, and Lyna had wondered if the rest of her quest would be the same. Good did come out of it, however, albeit a bit odd. Managing to recruit a sister of the chantry and a Qunari were unexpected, and both of her teammates had made a fuss.

That night decided to get to know everyone. Leliana, the Orlesian bard, had an abundance of interesting stories in which she listened to with great interest, her tales making her shiver in suspense and anticipation. It was something welcomed. Sten never spoke much, and often regarded her with skepticism, but had encouraged her to question the ways of modern society (even if she wasn't well educated in such a topic). That night she slept near her Mabari, Syr, in desperate attempt to free herself from unyielding nightmares. It never worked.

The group's next stop would be Eamon Guerrin, brother of the deceased Queen Rowan and Arl of Redcliffe. That is when horror ensued; witnessing something similar to the living dead was traumatizing, to not just her, but everyone in the city. It got worse; Connor _horrified _her. The voice of the demon who possessed him made her shudder in the most unpleasant of ways, and Morrigan's explanation of demons and the Fade did very little to soothe her nerves. She could have easily killed him, she was well aware, but chose not to. It was a decision that Morrigan thought stupid and Alistair was grateful for, but she simply couldn't bring herself to murder a child.

During their time spent in Redcliffe, Alistair had revealed his heritage. Lyna felt as if she were expected to be surprised, but she wasn't. He had looked and acted quite similarly to the king, it was obvious; what she was overjoyed about was the fact a possible solution to half of their problems presented itself. There was just one fault; he wanted nothing to do with his royal blood. She couldn't blame him.

As they traveled alongside Lake Calenhad, north towards the Circle of Magi, the small group was pelted by heavy rain. It was absolutely miserable- spending freezing nights without the warmth of a fire, dragging themselves up north at a painfully slow rate. However, the sight of the tower brought no relief. How odd- a Dalish who hadn't the faintest clue what this circle were to accomplish, an ex-templar, and an apostate bursting in, pleading for help and pray they would be believed. She could imagine the chantry being less than pleased.

Except they weren't, because they had more to worry about, such as demons threatening to consume the order of the mages. If it was a chance to earn their trust, she would take it.

The Warden had been very guarded the moment she set foot in the circle. It was clear something had gone horribly wrong, with books and personal belongings being scattered across the floor. Proceeding wearily, it was a joy to come across Wynne again, although it was obvious something was off. Then again, everything was off. There she had her first encounter with blood mages, abominations, and fade demons. Here she thought they were a myth- just a scary story the older elves would tell her. No, it was much more horrifying than that. The distortion of their skin and the deepness of their voices...it made her shudder.

We awoke later, confused. She was back at Ostagar, surrounded by her fellow Wardens...yet it seemed her memories had been forcedly placed in her mind. Everything: the circle, Loghain's treachery, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten and Wynne, the more she tried to focus on it, the more it faded away...like some bad dream. Like a cruel joke. When she spoke to Duncan, every fiber in her body screamed at her how wrong it was. The next thing she knew her mentor was dead at her feet. Mahariel's consciousness was then extracted, placed into an unfamiliar environment where her memories were retrieved, and were she could properly place the puzzles and tasks set ahead of her. Lyna was clever, concluded her team once they were freed (except Morrigan- the mage could not understand how anyone could fall for such foolish trickery). She awoke relieved, seeing none of the injuries she had sustained in the fade transferred over. Apparently not much time had passed, either. After a gruelling battle with Uldred, the circle was partly restored, and the wardens had their ally.

They travelled south, thankful the storm decided to let up, and restored the Arl's son. That night they gratefully slept within Redcliffe, and Alistair thanked her genuinely. Morrigan approached her as well, but for entirely different reasons. With sincerity, the mage had asked for assistance in killing her mother. Mahariel agreed.

As they travelled northward, the group was ambushed. It took all might to fight off skilled assassins, and the warden was more than slightly annoyed to speak to their leader- another elf called Zevran, an Antivan, which peaked her interest. Were elves treated differently in his country- in what way? The little sympathy she had for him did not do the assassin justice, but her curiosity did. He was recruited.

Her wariness increased undeniably as she wondered if it was worth the risk of recruiting such a man, constantly checking her food and sleeping lightly. It was a habit she needed to develop, and upon further inspection, she discovered Zevran wasn't bad...a bit lusty at that. He certainly had interesting tales to tell. The travel up north continued, and the temperature plummeted. All she could do to endure was wrap expensive furs around her shoulders, hoping hypothermia wouldn't claim anyone. The relief upon walking into Denerim did nothing to lessen the astonishment the elf had felt. Morrigan had a very similar reaction, never being able to witness such a large city. This brought amusement to the rest of their group.

The next morning her and Alistair had set off from the cheap inn alone, and he became visibly nervous when they found his sister's house. They walked in to find a poor, older woman with beautiful red hair. Could that of been the hair of his mother? It ended, ultimately, in disappointment. It was obvious Alistair acquired most of his charm from his father's side, for his sister was greedy. Dispute insults, he showed no inclination that he was upset. He simply wished the best for her, and walked out. Lyna awkwardly followed, and despite the sympathy she felt at that moment, she never coddled him. He needed start looking after himself.

When they left Denerim and set up camp later that evening, he approached her. The young prince was more confident, not shying away when he met her gaze...and she kissed him. Nothing overly passionate or dramatic, just an affectionate gesture.. That certainly made his cool demeanor diminish, as he couldn't even form a sentence afterwards. Lyna laughed, and he pouted. She kissed him again. Somehow he had managed to thank her, and had a realization on just how amazing the woman nearly pressed up against him was. He thought himself a lucky man. After that night, everything seemed to look up. Not everything was a chore to her now, some joy could be extracted from it.

They headed south into the thickness of the Brecilian forest, where the snow had at least led up, and stumbled across a clan of the Dalish. This was more than just luck on their part; Mahariel was thankful for her knowledge of the forest, it's dangers proving infinite. Despite her obvious Dalish origin, their clansmen were not discreet in the obvious distrust placed in them, particularly in her non-pointy-eared friends. Some were intrigued with the young warden, for a it was rare to see their kind join their ranks. She spoke of amazing stories, ones she still even had trouble believing in, and did her best to educate them on humans, though it did nothing to ease their paranoid glares.

She proceeded in mediating and argument between a spirit and a man who had been poisoned with hatred, easily lifting the curses placed on both parties. In a sense, she was disappointed that her fellow Dalish would be prideful enough as to let their own suffer rather than come to terms with an enemy. No wonder they were not fondly thought of. She made arrangements with the next keeper for aid, and Mahariel could only hope the next leader would not be so stubborn.

That night she rested near the campfire, hastily scribbling in her notebook. Everyone else slept, except Alistair, who was on watch.

"_It is mid winter still, and we just cleared the Brecilian forest, which is further chilled by the Amaranthine ocean. No one takes kindly to this, and it is not by surprise, either. What else is there to expect of Ferelden? It has been at least three days since the last entry, and for a good reason. I did not expect getting help from the Dalish would be difficult. I was proven wrong." _

She continued with the details of her quest and added:

"_Yes, I did get my intended support, however racial discrimination was strong. I haven't realized this until now; I was raised in intense isolation and suddenly forced out of it. I was to cooperate, I was not allowed an opinion, but I have finally formed one. In this land lies much more than the problem of the blight; problems that will continue to plague us on generations to come unless we do something to end it. As part of the minority, I hope to address this issue later on."_

The warden sighed wearily, shutting the notebook. Nights like this were not enjoyable, and desolate moments were feared. She preferred to be running around, shouting commands, it was when it was quiet that she could feel the taint course through her, pressing against her mind as if something were about to lash out at their small camp. She gazed at Alistair in mutual comprehension. He scooted near her, gently pressing his lips to her forehead. Such a strangely comforting action, she remembered. She slept soundly.

The growing group packed up and headed south, where the cold did not let up in the least. It was time to clean up Ostagar. When they remains of King Cailan were found, they properly sent him to the Maker; building a pyre. They watched silently as its smoke had risen, Leliana rehearsing the Chant of Light.

_Blessed are they who stand before _

_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter _

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of just._

She found herself shedding silent tears for their fallen king, despite barely knowing him.

No words were shared among them for awhile.

Traveling not too far north, they challenged Flemeth boldly (leaving Morrigan a safe distance behind, of course). This woman was certainly more than what the legends spoke of her- being able to transfer into such a magnificent beast, one that has nearly gone extinct, must of taken ages to perfect. It was easily one of the toughest battles she had faced in her life time, near the archdemon itself. Of course she had retained pride in retrieving its spoils, although they were not for herself, and presented them proudly to the sorcerous back at camp. The look Morrigan offered was indescribable- the brunette had obviously not expected the warden to undergo such lengths for a personal request. It was a look of gratitude, one that no words could describe. Morrigan had found a friend.

They travelled out of the thick of winter and into the Darkspawn, and she managed to recruit a _golem! _A _sassy _golem! Lyna had never seen a golem before, and this one was always ready to give a piece of its mine. Shale, as it called itself, obviously had a spunky personality. She could only wonder where it got that from.

While travelling up the Frostback mountains, the two Wardens had horrid nightmares, and not without good reason, apparently. The night they all feared finally was upon them- when darkspawn would invade. It was nothing terrible, or at least a group of rigorous warriors, mages, and wardens could not handle. After the battle, she could still sense something was not right, a lone darkspawn was near. Was it a shriek, perhaps? They were masters at stealth. She looked at Alistair, who was not concerned.

And then Lyna saw him; a lone ghoul barely hidden in the shadows of light. "Mercy of the gods." She remembered breathing.

It was Tamlen.

She followed him cautiously, overwhelmed with emotions she thought long buried since the day of the accident. Yet here he was. The taint had almost took him, his skin covered in dark blotches and having little hair left...he looked pained, and so was she. In a strangled voice, her friend apologized, and begged her to end his suffering. She had to comply, and it was not fair. Why had he not listened to her that evening? Then none of this would have happened...they could have travelled north and avoid all this blight nonsense. She felt even worse for thinking such. Everyone needed her now.

She slowly unsheathed her blade, watching her tortured friend heave in front of her. Gently resting her hand on his shoulder, the elf thrusted the blade through him, his agonizing cry reverberating throughout the camp. Tamlen fell, an almost peaceful look on his face. It was too much, even the young rogue could not handle such a scene. She fell to her knees. Someone had rushed over to her by then, supporting her against her will. It was so painful.

Wynne lulled her to sleep that night.

Alistair led the group into Orzammar, where they ran face first into a complete political mess, which of course would be left to them to resolve. The only one among them who had any political background was Alistair, and that was the lessons the Arl had forced upon him. There was really nothing they could do except listen and side with the popular opinion. Even then Lyna felt bad, they were resolving issues that had little to do with them in haste in attempt to earn their aid. Darkspawn would not wait for politics, after all.

In the end, Lyna and Alistair sides themselves with Prince Bhelen, which brought the group an abundance of problems. Fanatics was not something Wardens were patient with, and it led to more bloodshed than necessary. Of course they were shoved into even more of it: dealing with criminal organizations was treacherous, especially if it was the Carta. Lyna wondered how the operation of such a large city was even possible with such a massive criminal organization operating. Regardless, there were some things to be enjoyed in Orzammar. Lyna found their caste system in particular very interesting, perhaps because she was raised in an opposite way. Their quest eventually ended them up in the feared Deep Roads. She was very careful who she chose to bring on this expedition- Oghren, the mad dwarven stallion, Shale, for its resistance to fatigue, Morrigan (magic is always useful), Syr, and Alistair.

It was horrible, absolutely horrible. It always felt as if she were suffocating, the taint threatening to overtake the young warden's body the moment she let her guard down. Even Shale regarded her curiously, asking why "it" would not sleep despite having a golem as a guardian? She did not know. In those days Mahariel was most thankful for Morrigan's assistance, not only did she provide cover from the Darkspawn, she was their only source of light. She also remembered once Alistair unsheathed Maric's blade, and it emitted a faint glow. They watched in awe as the darkspawn corruption retreated from it, such an enchanted piece of work. Discovering the source of Darkspawn, Broodmothers, not only disgusted her, but piqued her interest. If they were to become extinct, Darkspawn numbers would surely lessen considerably.

Later, they happened to discover how Golems were created, much to Shale's liking, and were in the presence of two living Paragons! Although it would not remain like that for long...in a haste, she destroyed the Anvil of the Void, thus resolving all conflict, and the prince had a Paragon's vote. Bhelen was king, and the wardens had more support.

The group stumbled of the city, marching a good few miles out of the mountains before deemed safe to set up camp. It was cold, she was tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep and hope her recent experiences would not haunt her, but, as she would discover, there are different ways to vent.

Before she retired, Alistair approached her, regarding her in silence, although offering such a gaze of intensity she could not ignore. It all happened so quickly; suddenly she felt the warmth of his hands up her shirt, kissing him with a desire she was unaware possible to retain, and she knew he, too, held similar emotions, emotions that threatened to consume them both. She allowed it.

For one night, the nightmares would be at bay.

Waking up in another's arms was a peculiar experience. Surprisingly, she did not feel as stressed the next day, and of course everyone noticed that, and _of course _nearly all of them brought it up in amusement. Even Alistair played along in some of their relentless teasings, although it ultimately ended in his defeat. They could afford to be light hearted once in awhile these days; the two Grey Wardens had nearly assembled an army large enough to battle a blight...but how far could they chase legend?

Apparently not very, although they didn't need to. A small village can hold deep, dark secrets, as they discovered, even whereabouts of a prophet's resting place. This led to especially interesting banters between her party and others they had encountered, and yet she was not even too surprised to find out such a legend exists. She had experienced too much to be surprised. Through countless trials and puzzles, she retrieved a pinch of the prophets ashes, even muttering a small prayer in the process.

Everything proceeded quickly after resting in Redcliffe; a landsmeet was called, and they were to travel to Denerim to face their political enemies. Redcliffe soldiers accompanied them this time, easing their anxiety about bandits or assassins, hell, they were even given the luxury of riding horses. It certainly progressed the movement, and the weather even started improving. Things seemed to turn up...and they could only hope they remained that way. During a resting period, Lyna remembered, she had an important conversation with Alistair.

"Do you realize what will be expected of you?" She asked her lover wearily. Days of nonstop traveling, even with aid, took their toll.

"Yes, I'll be yelled at, ordered around. Just do what you're told, Alistair." He laughed, but his smile faded when she did not return it. "If you're referring to the whole kingly manner," he sighed, "Yes, I'm quite aware we are in dire need of a leader..but Lyna, are you sure you would want that? I'm not- I know that. I just...I don't think I can-"

"Don't lie to yourself," Her expression softened, "you are more than capable of handling anything they throw at you. You are what this nation needs right now, someone to pull it back together."

"I won't be able to be with you."

It was blunt, and it was true. He meant no offense by it, but there was no way most of the nobles in Ferelden would accept an elf, Dalish for that matter, as their queen.

"Alistair…" She exhaled sadly, "Do not say that. Do not hold me above these people. They need you far more than I."

"Yes, but I need you." He responded seriously. She did not like the thought of being torn away from him any more than he, but she would have have to agree with Morrigan. Love could very much be weakness.

She closed her eyes and steadied her voice, "I love you. You know that, and one day, I hope change comes upon us, so that we may get our wish." She offered a sad smile. "Until then, I will instigate this change, and help in whatever way possible to set this country straight."

There was nothing he could say.

Once they arrived at the estate, the group rested gratefully, and no one denied them of it. It had been a long time since the elf had rested in a proper bed, nor had she ever heard most of the foods they served her. Most of these servants, she noticed, were elves. Clearly they were not treated badly either, for they obsessed over her! Every time one passed they would comment on how skinny she was, and suggest she eat, or perhaps that she was in dire need of a hair cut. Lyna did not doubt they were Orlesian. Nonetheless, although she appreciated the attention, her focus did not wane from the political problems that which threatened the nation. Before, however, she took the opportunity to speak with her teammates. It was something she needed.

Leliana was much fun to be around, Lyna thought, and if the circumstances were different, perhaps they could be good friends. The Orlesian spent their time together trimming the warden's hair, telling her fascinating stories of how nobles wore their hair in Orlais, and how beauty conquered all, and finally ended with her gratitude- gratitude for helping her overcome Marjolaine and her obsession with the chantry. With her personality hardened, the redhead would be well equipped for anything the future throws at her. Zevran was a similar experience, and he spared the lurid stares, as he put it. Even she was able to transform the elf's ideals. His loyalty did not sway.

Sten did not have much to offer, but he did state his support in her. That meant a lot considering he thought her goals were impossible when they had first met. The Qunari said little else. Shale was similar, only offering her distaste in being held in such an estate. Lyna grinned in amusement, and of course Oghren was...Oghren.

Wynne spoke calmly, voicing her concerns of the landsmeet. All were understandable, of course, and most were shared, and then she simply smiled at her, saying that she was proud in the young warden, and that overjoyed her. Wynne was very much the mother the warden never had.

Morrigan had a heart felt speech cooked up already, although she had a rather difficult time delivering it. Morrigan was an amazing woman. She was innocent, vulnerable, she was _beautiful. _The young mage acted wise, yet had so much to learn, and that all began on Lyna Mahariel. For such an opportunity to gain a friend, she would be forever thankful.

As the day passed on, her friends made her realize who she really was. Lyna Mahariel was no longer a timid outcast, overwhelmed by the world that surrounded her. She knew her country inside and out; the races, the religion, the politics, and all of its problems. She was a fearsome warrior and had the rigid qualities of a soldier.

That same day she had the honor, as some would put it, of meeting Queen Anora, who she couldn't particularly say she got the best impression from, considering she used Alistair and herself to escape. That would of even been fine, if it weren't for the fact that her highness had lied about it. Besides that, she wasn't too bad, although not desirable. She could not see how Cailan could stand her, but got the impression he had much more things to do with his time rather than listen to a nagging wife. Despite that, the woman was clever, and beautiful, and for awhile, Lyna even believed she was against her father.

The queen had sent her to investigate the plague outbreak in the elven alienage, and she admittedly did not want to. What where alien ages like? Were the elves anything like she grew up with? She was about to find out.

When she arrived, she was appalled. The alienage was in tatters; its people discouraged. She could see why it was so greatly resisted among her type to associate with these people, but at the same time, felt a great sympathy for them. When they looked at her, they were not afraid. An underlying hope had been presented, the way she was marveled at. Seeing one of their kind become so formidable brought hope across the alienage. Alistair and Wynne were especially cautious, and not because of the plague. Perhaps it was due to the haunted buildings?

It was terrific, something from a horror story. Blood coated the walls, each room a mess. Despite it, there was an ominous stillness that made everyone uneasy, and it was clear more templars needed to be stationed in the demon infested area. Her next discovery was even more unnerving, learning that her kind was being sold into slavery. She was beginning to wonder just how desperate her enemies were.

Rallying further support wasn't as difficult as anticipated. Nobles were closely connected with each other, and rumors spread like wildfire. Most of them were not stupid, either, they knew what was at stake, and was not about to let a blight overrun them while they argued over such trivial things. Surprisingly enough, Ferelden was not Orlais. Even so, her cunning attitude was treated with respect, and she easily gained the affection of many men and women alike. She was thankful for carrying a journal; it was proof all her adventures really had happened, and she was not insane.

Before anyone knew it, the day of the landsmeet arrived, and she paced back and forth nervously. Eventually Alistair had to grab the elf by both shoulders, holding her in place. It was simply a notion that annoyed him. In fact, it made her whole party uneasy. Before they left, Alistair went to put on his armor. It was Cailan's, this time; the golden armor shone brilliantly as t they made their way to the Royal Palace, and something was different. Oddly, people were not trying to kill them...instead they received praise. People were smiling or waving or cheering. They really were supported in Ferelden, and that was all Lyna needed to restore her confidence.

As the team walked in, Eamon's voice boomed throughout the room, and then Loghain's responded. Her earlier nervousness was replaced with anger, the desire to set Ferelden free from this madman. He was the hero of Ferelden, driving the Orlesians out rule and helping the almighty King Maric take back his throne, and was supposedly his best friend. In a sense, history was repeating itself. However, she did not see a hero in this man. He was mad; trying to force out an order that has saved humanity numerous times, claiming it was for the best. This man's patriotic intentions could bring Ferelden doom. Not only that, he was the queen's father, giving him supreme authority in Denerim, and all of Ferelden.

Perhaps what was so charming about the young warden is that she never got upset, nor even raised her voice during the duration of the argument. That being said, she did not back down nor get overwhelmed by the onslaught of threats, and many people were actually frightened by his rambling, claims that horrendous things were to happen to Ferelden. Anora suddenly bursting in and turning against her did not help, and just when she thought it was pointless to hope they held a chance, houses started voting for her. One by one, they shouted out her name, standing behind her. She looked at Alistair; he was smiling.

Of course that was not the end of it; they now had to duel it out, and Alistair was happy to comply. So was she, in fact, so was everyone who had followed her. She was about to step forward, take him on his offer, when Alistair stopped her. The young man looked confident, and she was not about to take his vengeance from him.

The golden armor glistened as the prince stepped forward, gripping Maric's blade tightly. They circled each other for the longest time, daring the other to make the first move. Alistair did, running up to the general and pushing him back with his shield. Loghain retreated briefly, before countering with a swift blow of his sword, although it was nothing compared to the strength of Maric's enchanted blade. The Teyrn was well aware this, but showed no intention of backing down. The duel had been rigorous; everyone else in the room appearing tense, and it was near the point where Lyna was about to jump in and end it, when the brunette had backed off, panting. She would never forget his words.

_So there is some Maric left in you, after all. _

And Alistair had looked furious. He couldn't care less who is father was at that point, his intentions were strictly in regard to vengeance, and he achieved just that. Yet when Loghain had been slain, he looked oddly content, despite the simultaneous gasps and the cries of his daughter. Despite this, Lyna could not bring herself to feel bad for the man as he fell to his knees. It was the ending of a dark chapter in Ferelden, and the beginning of a new one; one written by Alistair, perhaps.

The new king turned to the crowd, engulfed in glory, and spoke to his people with a confidence that made Lyna shiver, and they felt the same. The Hero, as they referred to her now, was not sure if they realized what was at stake now or if their loyalties had simply shifted easily, regardless it was obvious who they now accepted as their leader, and Alistair felt prideful.

Everything began to move frantically. As quickly as they returned to the estate she was to pack her bags, assemble her team and report to Eamon's guardsmen, where they would begin journeying to Redcliffe in response to the rising blight. Alistair was already being hassled, and there wasn't much room to chat. It was dusk by the time they mounted horses, and she was fatigued, as was everyone, however it provided no deterrence in the travelling ahead.

The farther they travelled, she experienced a familiar weight pressing down on her, as if something was forcing its way into her mind. She tensed and looked around. Morrigan and Wynne, accompanied with a representative of the Circle of Magi. They travelled in the middle, with other long ranged fighters such as Leliana. Traditionally, in such a time, more Grey Wardens would be positioned on the outskirts of the group, and yet they had two, one now being the most important man in Ferelden. More the reason to make her feel nervous, and then she glanced at Alistair, who obviously felt the same way.

This feeling only intensified as they neared Redcliffe, and they quickened their pace. As the shores of Lake Calenhad became visible, those around her only became more tense. Hours of no resting tended to have a bad effect on people. It became unbearable by the time they arrived, and she could see why. The city had been completely overrun, and she hurried in it's direction, the darkspawn's taint threatening to consume her surroundings.

Everything was consumed in battle, and before she knew it she was dismounting her horse and joining the fray. She remembered feeling the vibration as Morrigan slammed the end of her staff into the ground, hearing her as she whispered words of magic, and then the temperature around them lessened considerably as the darkspawn in front of them froze in position. She had to pause briefly; magic was beautiful. Despite the ache she felt, they plowed forward into the castle, where they were forced to settle, only to find out they would be marching back up to Denerim, and a few other unpleasant things about Grey Wardens.

The Warden remembered in clarity the anguish she felt as she stood outside her room, alone in the darkness of the hall as choices were considered, and then was followed by Morrigan's explanation of a dark ritual. There was no happy endings; she could not die, Ferelden needed someone to rebuild the order, Alistair could not (it wouldn't even be an option), he was the king, and the only way out of possible heroic death would be to have her love impregnate her closest friend, only for her to run off and possibly never be seen again.

She was humiliated, nearly begging him to go through with it, and felt nervous under his uncertain gaze. He simply nodded, holding her hand for the longest time before heading out of the room down the hallway. Yet the two awoke next to each other, and he held in a long moment of silence highly appreciated in preparation for the hardest days of their lives.

The wardens (all three of them) sent out word, and a mass army was in the process of being assembled at Redcliffe. It was amazing, really; elves, dwarves, humans- warriors, mages and rogues all working together despite their differences, and less than a year ago Ferelden was utterly torn apart from these simple differences. They marched to Denerim in haste, and somehow it was not as bad. She could easily admit that she was actually excited, and so were her followers. Moral was high.

Denerim _was _bad, but fighting mass amounts of darkspawn tended to relieve a lot of tension, and then before she knew it, she was saying goodbye to most of her teammates; all in realization that they could very well not see each other again. She felt heartache, but trudged through Denerim, bringing Morrigan, Alistair and Wynne. The whole ordeal _was _thrilling; having so many fight by her side when just so little ago they probably wouldn't even acknowledge her at all. They rested shortly in Fort Drakon before proceeding up the darkspawn invested fortress, and the monsters were relentless, but Lyna's forces were even stronger. They plowed ahead of her group, dealing with emissaries and alphas, protecting the wardens in hope of an end to the blight. They did not know about the secret ritual performed shortly before, nor did it do much to ease the nerves of neither Alistair or Lyna. There were always faults to a plan.

She entered the roof and beheld the amazing sight of the powerful, tainted old god bat it's wings as it desperately tried to stay in air, and ended up crashing into the fort. Those who were able to witness it below were probably shocked.

Then the Circle of Magi entered, all casting the demon in a relentless blizzard which made the large creature cry in pain, although most short ranged soldiers were still too wary to approach the archdemon on foot. They had reason to be; it was a large demon, more than capable of destroying the tower in a fit of rage and burning them all alive. It probably would have, too, if it weren't for the mages' shields and counter-magic. It wasn't for a good twenty minutes, which dragged on like hours, until many warriors could even approach the beast, and even then they could not do much. Mahariel gripped her sword, looking around her. Many lied dead already. She noticed the Legion of the Dead had even joined them, and the persistence of the Dalish as many knocked enchanted arrows. Perhaps this, she thought, was the glorious battle that Cailan had always wished for. It was really a shame he was not around to witness it.

She knew she had to get to the archdemon before Alistair, there was absolutely no way she was about to let him take that chance in order to protect her or anyone around him. She couldn't: not because she loved him, but because he had a duty. With that being said, the young elf charged the dragon, her armor feeling lighter than she remembered as her feet moved rapidly beneath her. The warden flung herself on it's back, and she struggled to keep hold as it thrashed wildly beneath her, and it took all of her strength to sink the blades of her swords deep into it's neck.

It was not enough.

The action was repeated multiple times, and it was difficult to even penetrate it's thick skin. Those around her gazed in awe, and mages fought to restrain the demon with magic. It finally was able to fling her off of it's neck, and she was thrown forward, rolling on the hard, stone surface. The rogue quickly turned, though unable to stand up just yet, to witness the creature give an audible sigh before collapsing.

It was over.

Suddenly people were cheering, and they made sure all of Denerim knew it. The darkspawn began to recede,and someone resting a hand on her back, holding her, preventing her from falling down. It was Alistair. She gazed at him; he was grinning, tears in his eyes. So was she. Wynne was next; the mage resting her hand on Lyna's forehead, and the blonde felt the tingle of magic surge through her, healing bad wounds she had sustained. Morrigan watched from a distance. She may have even been smiling.

Suddenly Lyna was exhausted. Her injuries hurt, body aching, and she had gotten little sleep in the past few days. She had barely rested in the last year alone, bearing such a burden on her shoulders, and now that it was relieved the elf wanted nothing but to sleep. She leaned against Alistair's shoulder, listening to the commotion unravel around them.

He laughed. "Oh no, there will be time for that shortly. No sleeping until we at least get you to safety."

As they left the tower, even Morrigan stood protectively close to the warden. It was a subtle sign of the mage's appreciation for her friend, something she wished to display before leaving. Some soldiers still struggled with darkspawn, but for the most part they were receding, desperately trying to leave the city and flee underground. Those who were not caught up in the mess cheered, gazing at the hero with great admiration. She met up with her party, most of them offered encouragement and thanks, and Eamon's men escorted the group, once again, to the estate, where she would find her bed and gratefully rest as more medics worked on her.

* * *

Oh yes, she remembered everything.

The elf awoke to daylight seeping through the blinds of the window. Honestly, she was fairly surprised; if it was indeed morning, or after morning, that would mean she had slept well over 12 hours, and that is something she hasn't done in a long time. She tried to sit up, but her body resisted. It was so quiet; no one yelling, no swords clashing, even her grey warden senses were relatively calm.

Something shifted next to her, and she startled, and relieved to see Alistair, still sleeping, in fact. Either he felt similarly as her or did not get to bed until late, because nor did he usually sleep in.

The King's eyes fluttered open, and he briefly looked surprised before regaining his composure. For the longest time, the two gazed at each other, sharing a mutual comprehension neither of them explained. Eventually she started smiling, and so did he.

"Good morning."

* * *

**A/N: This was intended to be a oneshot originally, but may evolve into something more. My interpretation of Dragon Age: Origins through Mahariel.**


End file.
